


It Ain't All Sunshine and Rainbows

by eternitywrites



Series: Tumblr Writing Memes [2]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Bad Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi, amputation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternitywrites/pseuds/eternitywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unconnected collection of unsettling moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Ain't All Sunshine and Rainbows

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for more [writing prompts](http://eternityswritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/88976181195/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill-write) on my Tumblr and kindly anons delivered. I _attempted_ to angst with them. They aren't my usual MO of gooey, happy domestic boyfriends, at least.

(NoiAo: “Don’t fucking touch me.”)

"Aoba…" The single step Noiz took toward him went beyond the limits of what Aoba could handle right now. He stumbled back, nearly slipping on the bathroom rug as some kind of bizarre sound escaped his mouth: a senseless gibber of terror, rage, and pain.

Noiz’s face was deathly pale, his expression flat. “Aoba. Calm down. It’ll be al — ” He reached out a hand.

Another hot, agonizing spear ripped through Aoba’s brain.

"I said _don’t fucking touch me! Please!”_ It was more a sob than a shout. They both heard the reverberations, but he knew that Noiz felt it in his very bones. His hand wrenched back so suddenly that a flicker of pain crossed Noiz’s face, there and gone in an instant.

"Get out," Aoba hissed through his teeth, hating himself, hating his lack of self-control, but too frightened for Noiz’s safety to stop his next command. _"Get out!"_

It took a long moment for Scrap to take effect. Noiz fought against it valiantly. Eyes wide and wild, jaw clenched tight, body shaking with the effort to hold himself in one spot, but in the end there was no resisting. He spun around and marched out of the bathroom in jerky, unnatural movements.

Scared out of his mind, Aoba tore open the mirrored cabinet above the sink and tossed everything out until he found what he was looking for: a small, unmarked pill bottle. He popped it open with a practiced flick of his thumb. There were less than a dozen left. Probably expired at this point. Aoba didn’t care. He swallowed three at once, almost gagging on them in his haste, before falling to the floor and weeping in earnest among the array of fallen toiletries and boxes of medicine.

 

* * *

 

(Bad End CleAo: “Please, put it DOWN.”)

There were very rare occasions when Aoba would struggle. And they were the worst moments of Clear’s existence. He blamed himself when it happened. Sometimes his vigilance slipped. A side-effect, perhaps, of being an older, imperfect model.

"Please, Aoba-san, put it _down._ ”

Aoba whimpered. His thin, nude form was backed into a corner of his cell, the steak knife Clear had been using to cut the meat of his dinner in his grip. He wasn’t waving it, wasn’t moving around much at all, but his head was slumped and his shoulders hunched. A sort of rebellious curling inward that pushed Clear away.

And Clear would not stand for it.

"You need to finish eating, Aoba-san." Clear kept his words calm. He wasn’t required to interact with other human beings like most of his siblings, but he still had the knowledge necessary to carry out simple tasks like this. Use a low, soothing voice when speaking to someone in distress. "You need your daily nutritional intake, especially this week. And I think you’ll really like tonight’s dessert. But I _must_ feed you the rest of your dinner, first. You _will_ eat.”

Aoba lowered his head even further, as if what little strength he had left in the muscles of his neck had completely expired. Clear glanced down at the hand Aoba had around the knife. So pretty and slender.

And defiant.

"Aoba-san? Will you drop the knife? Drop the knife, please, Aoba-san, and come back to me."

The knife slipped through Aoba’s fingers with a clatter. A strange sensation of _loosening_ spread through Clear’s chest. He didn’t know what that meant. It seemed like a hardware issue more than anything else. Well, he was due for some self-maintenance. He’d take care of it later tonight.

Clear, smiling, opened his arms and allowed Aoba to shamble into them.

"Your legs have been making you so restless, lately, Aoba-san," he whispered, stroking his hair. Aoba murmured something unintelligible in reply, now soft and pliant as he usually was, ready to be molded into true beauty. "Hold on for just a few more days, alright? I won’t allow them to be a problem for us for much longer."

 

* * *

 

(NoiAo: “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”)

It would occur completely at random, the incidents so few and far in between that it always took Aoba by complete, horrified surprise. The day would pass normally enough. Not a single sign on Noiz’s face that he had been preoccupied with anything, and most likely because there actually hadn’t been anything dark clouding his mind at the time. Night would fall and the two of them would eventually settle into bed. It didn’t matter whether the prelude to sleep had been a round of bickering or joking, unhurried lovemaking or desperate fucking. Nothing in particular seemed to trigger it. It would just _happen_ and blindside them both.

More often than not when it happened, Aoba would wake up to find Noiz sitting in bed, legs drawn up to his chest and head against his knees, the lamp on his nightstand turned up as brightly as possible. At the first touch, Noiz would flinch away from him, just a little. Then Aoba would rise up and fold himself around as much of Noiz as he could, until Noiz would shift in his embrace, whisper that he was alright, and finally unbend himself. Nothing more would pass between them, and the next day would be as normal as the previous, except on occasion Noiz had trouble meeting his gaze.

Sometimes Aoba would hear this sound that would startle him awake; a wet, choked, spluttering cough. Just one. The lights would be off and Noiz would have his back turned to him. Aoba would try to say something, then, _had_ to say something, but —

"Go back to sleep, Aoba."

Aoba switched his lamp on instead and grabbed some tissue. He wasn’t going to let it go this time. How could he?

"I’ll be _fine_ , Aoba. Just go to sleep.”

He felt Noiz twitch next to him, but he seemed determined not to look at him. Aoba tugged at his arm, to no avail.

"Noiz, please. I’m not going back to sleep. I — I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to deal with this by yourself anymore."

That did it. Noiz rolled over, cheeks slick with the aftermath of crying. His heart cracking for Noiz, Aoba reached over and wiped away the remnants of his tears.

 

* * *

 

(Mizuki: “I’m sick of being USELESS.”)

Mizuki could see that Dry Juice was slowly coming undone at the seams, and what was really awful about it all was that he couldn’t even wholly blame it on the way Rhyme was spreading across the Old District like a malignant tumor. He kept tabs on the recent quitters. Quite a few of them didn’t even touch the game after dropping Rib.

What was the problem? The question ate at him day and night. What was causing the increase in his members’ irritatingly casual, almost careless collective attitude, the decrease in meeting attendance, the subtle jabs of insubordination? So many tiny problems stacking on top of one another until they teetered dangerously from their own height, threatening to fall and crush every connection Mizuki had formed through Dry Juice.

The epiphany slammed into him one evening during dinner.

 _He_ was the problem.

His chopsticks fell into his ramen, splashing soup all over the table, but he paid no mind to the mess. Really, when any kind of team suffers inner strife, who else was ultimately to blame but the leader?

So he redoubled his efforts. He kept an eye on troublemakers, tried to encourage communication, held a hand out to anyone who might have had things on their mind that kept them distracted from Dry Juice and…nothing changed for the better. One week became two, two weeks became a month, and the disinterest in his team’s eyes grew along with the number dropouts.

Mizuki snapped one night while cleaning up the bar after closing time.

"There has to be something I can do. I’m sick of being _useless!_ ” He slammed a fist into the counter, feeling more alone than ever. It was a tantrum, sure, but a small one. He’d indulge in it for just a few moments before putting his nose back to the grindstone and coming up with more strategies to keep Dry Juice together. There had to be a solution. He'd try anything at this point. Anything for his family.

Then his Coil vibrated. The email screen popped up, and the unfamiliar address next to the politely worded email title (“A Business Proposal to the Leader of Dry Juice”) caught his eye. It was probably spam, but he looked at everything that seemed like it had to do with Rib. He opened the message with a sigh. A sigh that became a confused, wary frown as he read the email.

It was…definitely not spam.

He exited out of the screen and chewed on his bottom lip. Not spam, but a trick of some kind? Maybe. But if it wasn’t….

Before he could change his mind he pulled up the telephone app and dialed the number the email had listed. His call was answered almost at once.

"I’m glad to hear from you so soon, Mizuki-san." The voice was as polite as the email had been. Mizuki found it oddly grating.

"Before we even begin to talk business," said Mizuki, deciding to skip the formalities. "Let me tell you that if this brings any harm to my team, any harm at all, I will personally make sure you pay for it.”

"Duly noted, but rest assured I am offering assistance only because I wish to help you and Dry Juice reach full potential." He could almost hear the man smile affably on the other end of the line. "Morphine prides itself on fostering excellent team loyalty. You’ll see."

 

* * *

 

(Tae & Aoba: “It’s okay to cry.”)

The change Tae saw in Aoba soon after Nain and Haruka left for god-knew-where was…worrying. All the light and happiness seemed to have gone out of his eyes. He picked at his food — even his favorites, wandered the streets rather than played in them, rarely even spoke, and avoided her gaze whenever he could. No tears, not a single one, but a dark cloud followed him wherever he went.

It broke Tae’s heart.

One evening she found him curled on his bed, wide awake, his chubby little face downcast. She sat on the edge of his bed and gestured for him to come near. He did so. Wordlessly, yes, but at least he didn’t hesitate. He snuggled into her side. She wrapped an arm around his small shoulders and pressed him close.

"It’s okay to cry, Aoba," she murmured.

Aoba shook his head vigorously, but with the way he clutched at her dress she knew he wanted to do that more than anything.

Tae sighed, wondering how long it would take for Aoba to reach his limit and shatter with all the pain he was bottling up, hoping with everything she had in had in her that she’d be able to stem the flood and help put his pieces back together.


End file.
